


Poughkeepsie

by withoutaplease



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and reader try out one of reader’s fantasies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poughkeepsie

“Remember,” he says, giving your wrist a sharp tug, testing the knot around the bedpost.  It holds.  “You asked me to do this.”

 You giggle, mostly out of nervousness.  “That’s reassuring,” you say, pulling a little at the ropes holding your wrists and ankles out at the four corners of the bed.  It’s useless.  You’re totally immobilized, totally naked, and at Sam’s mercy.  Your heart is beating rabbit-fast, and you’re already wet almost to the point of dripping.  You did ask.

 He gets up from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and you crane your neck a little to watch him walk around it.  He stops, leans over to look at you, towering from this angle.  “What’s the safeword?” he asks.

 You clear your throat.  “Poughkeepsie,” you say.  He nods.

 “Good,” he says, “What’s the rule?”

 You bite your lip against a grin, anticipating.  “I’m only allowed to come on your dick,” you say, briefly averting your eyes.  

 He smiles.  Anticipating.  “Good,” he repeats.  He bends closer to you, and quickly rakes his fingers down along  your sides, from underarms to hipbones.  It tickles, and you twist and squirm against the ropes.

 “How mad would you be if just tickled you right now?” he says, with a bit of a shit-eating grin on his face.

 You huff, trying hard not to look bothered by the threat. Wouldn’t want to tempt him to make good on it.

 He steps away instead, and you watch as he starts to get undressed.  He unbuttons his shirt in absolutely no hurry at all, folds it neatly before he sets it on the dresser.  He pauses to run one fingertip lightly along the arch of your foot, curling your toes, making you shiver.  Then he takes off his t-shirt, already sporting little dark patches of sweat, and folds that up, too.  Socks are next, and finally jeans, which come down to reveal black boxer-briefs and Sam’s heavy half-hardon beneath them.  He wears only briefs when he crawls up onto the end of the bed and kneels in the space between your legs.

 He puts just one finger on your pussy, parting your lips to briefly run it through your slick.  You hum and arch against him, but his touch is gone almost as soon as it’s there.  “You’re so wet,” he says, drying off his finger on the flesh of your thigh. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

 “Feel free,” you say, exerting some effort to keep your voice even.  Your skin is practically thrumming, waiting for him to touch you again, and you’re getting fidgety.

 “Like this?” he says, pressing the heel of his hand against your mound, making you gasp and buck your hips.  He holds still there a few seconds, lets you grind yourself against him.  It feels good, and you groan softly, and then he takes his hand away.  He dries it off on your belly, then continues the upward sweep of his hand until he’s cupping your breast.  He traps your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and twisting, until you yell and pull at the ropes again.  Then he takes your other breast in his other hand, kneading and pulling at both nipples at once.  You moan and squirm.  

 He lets go of your breasts, crawls right up over top of you, and rests on his forearms.  Leaning down over your face, his lips close enough to kiss you, he says, “You like this.”  It’s not a question.

 You nod.  You can’t take your eyes off his lips.  He smiles a little.  He doesn’t kiss you.  You whine, softly, high in the back of your throat.  

 He falls back on his knees and waits a minute, just sitting and watching you writhe.  When he touches you again it’s to slip one long, slender finger up inside you.  He slides it in and out, slowly, grazing over your g-spot without pressing it. It feels exquisite, but it’s not enough.  You start to squirm again, and try to push yourself down against his finger, but he doesn’t let up, doesn’t speed up, just keeps fucking you with it.  You whimper, and twist, and push, and the orgasm you want remains just out of reach.  

 “Sam,” you moan.  You’re breaking a sweat.

 “Yes?” he asks, without stopping what he’s doing.

 “I want to come,” you say, small-voiced and a little pouty.

 “What’s the rule?” he asks casually, rubbing your belly gently with his free hand and watching you expectantly.

 “I’m only allowed to come on your dick,” you say.  He nods, then he unexpectedly curls his finger, pressing hard into your g-spot, and you groan.  “So are you going to fuck me, or what?” you say, once you’ve recovered.

 “I will when you beg me,” he says, and you look at him incredulously. He’s serious.

 “You want me to beg you to fuck me?” you ask.

 He nods, like it’s reasonable.  “For real, though.  I don’t just want you to say the words.”

 “I’m not gonna do that,” you say.

 He smiles.  “All right,” he says, nodding.  “We’ll see.” He pulls out his finger, and it’s coated with your slick.

 For a few seconds, he doesn’t touch you at all, anywhere. You try to relax, but you’re twitchy, and out of breath.  Your clit throbs.  Your heart races. You wonder.

 His tongue hits your clit, and it’s electrifying.  He swirls wet, velvety circles around it, and you throw your head back, moaning.  He hums softly against your skin in response. Sam’s tongue feels like it’s hitting every nerve, and suddenly the orgasm that seemed out of reach a few minutes ago is right there on the horizon.  You want to fist his hair, squeeze his face between your thighs, do something to make it more bearable, but you can’t.  All you can do is curl your toes, and dig your fingernails into your palms, and repeat his name, over and over.  Your pitch changes when you’re about to come, goes higher and more urgent, and he stops short.  

 “Fuck,” you groan, as he gets up on his knees again.  He rubs your sides affectionately as your breathing settles back down to normal, and the tension in your clit settles into an ache.

 “How are your hands?” he says, not waiting for an answer as he crawls up over top of you, straddling your chest.  He fusses with the ropes holding your wrists, and gives you a very up-close-and-personal look at his cock, no longer only half-hard, straining against the fabric of his briefs. You think that you’d yank them down and take him as far back into your throat as he’ll go, if you could.  He looks down at you.  “These are going to leave marks,” he says, but he moves back down between your legs, apparently satisfied.

 “I don’t mind,” you say, the ache in your wrists and ankles paling in comparison to the slippery, pulsing need in your pussy.  “It’s like a souvenir.”

 He runs his hands up over your belly again, like he can’t keep them off you. He keeps it up, gentle and unhurried, until you’re relaxed and practically purring.  You don’t even really register when he asks, “Ready?” until his tongue is dragging through your folds again, and hitting your clit like fire.

 Either you’re more sensitive, or he’s going harder, because his mouth is on you maybe two minutes before you feel your orgasm creeping up again.  The need is keener this time, your cries louder, and when he stops, you groan in frustration and yank against the ropes. They don’t give. Sam rests on his forearms and exhales slowly, watching you. “God, look at you,” he says.  Your chest heaves. Your pussy aches.

 “You’re enjoying this,” you say, and he smiles.

 “Of course,” he responds, and he’s a little breathless, himself. “Aren’t you?”

 “I want to come,” you answer.  Less playful this time. More genuine.

 “So do I,” he says, reaching down to briefly palm his erection. “You should just beg me already.”

 You sigh. “Please fuck me?” you ask, eyelashes fluttering.  He considers a moment, then shakes his head.

 “I’m sorry, beautiful,” he says, and you almost believe that he is. “But I really didn’t buy that at all.”  You whimper, and he dips his tongue again, and you’re trembling all over in seconds.

 It comes up fast this time, and strong, and you feel like you’ll combust if he doesn’t let you release it. “Oh God,” you say, _“please_ don’t stop,” and then, of course, he does.  The sound you make is nearly a sob, and the throbbing in your clit is almost painful.  It’s only begun to subside when he starts again, and you’re right back up at that edge.  “ _Please,”_ you whine, and you could kill him when he lifts his head, except he runs his thumb up over your clit, slides it back and forth easily over your drenched, swollen-red skin.

 “Please what?” he asks, making your muscles jump with every pass of his thumb, keeping you suspended.  He palms himself again with his free hand. His breath is heavy.

“I need to come,” you say, high-pitched and hoarse. “ _Please_ fuck me.”  

 “Say that again,” he says, rubbing faster, sending up sparks, pushing you tantalizingly close to the point of no return.

 “ _Please fuck me,”_ you repeat, surprised by your own urgency. Your voice breaks.  

 “Fuck,” he whispers, mostly under his breath, then he grins and says, “Was that so hard?”

 “I hate you,” you mutter, and he laughs.  He flicks his thumb against your clit again, making you jump. Then he crawls up over top of you, letting himself down so that his cock is pressing stiff against your pussy, and your mouths are inches apart.

 “That’s not very nice at all,” he says. “I should punish you for that.”

 “Come on,” you complain, pulling hard at the ropes again, and he answers with a smile and a kiss. It’s so soft, and you want him so badly, that it feels like you’re melting in it.  He rolls his hips, grinds himself against you, before he pulls back.

 “Relax a minute,” he says, like you’ve got any choice, as he gets up off the bed again.  “These are drenched now, by the way,” he says of his boxer-briefs, before he pulls them down and lets his cock fall free.

 “Whose fault is that?” you say, and he grins.  He goes to the corner of the bed and unties your left ankle, massaging with his thumbs where the ropes have dug in.  It’s vaguely sore, but you barely notice. He lets go of your foot and moves to untie your right ankle, and you bend your knee a few times to work out the stiffness.  He drops your right foot, and smirks at the way you immediately rub your thighs together, as he moves to release your arms. Once you’re all free, you sit up, and stretch, and rear up to pounce.

 “Easy,” he says, one hand wrapped loosely around his cock, the other held out toward you as if you’re about to go for his throat. You wait, restless, as he joins you on the bed.  He sits upright against the headboard, looks at you, and says, “Come here.”

 You waste no time in crawling over to him, throwing one leg over his lap, and straddling him. You line him up with a swivel of your hips, and then you’re sinking down onto his cock, quickly and easily, and both of you moan.  You go to pump, and he grabs your thighs, holding you still.

 “Sam,” you moan, taking him by the shoulders, digging in your nails.

 He kisses you, long and deep, and you clench up reflexively around him.  “Slowly,” he murmurs against your lips. “I want to feel you get yourself off.”  You nod, and he releases your thighs, laying his hands across the middle of your back.  You slide back, almost along his entire length, and it takes restraint you barely possess not to slam back down onto him and just take what you need right now.  Instead, trembling, you go slow enough to feel every inch.  When your clit hits his public bone, you groan.  “Just like that,” he whispers. “That’s perfect.”

 Even with going slow, you don’t last all that long.  Sam tries, and fails, to resist the urge to thrust up into you as you move, and you’re so wound up already that the extra pressure is all you need.  “Don’t you fucking dare stop this time,” you whisper.  He answers by thrusting up into you harder.  You come, and it’s like you’re imploding, folding in on yourself and contracting hard around Sam’s cock.  He holds you tightly against him as you moan and tremble, grunting his own orgasm next to your ear.  “You’re so fucking perfect,” he says, shakily.

 You stay that way for a while after, catching your breath, letting your heartbeats slow.

 “Fuck,” he says. You sit up straight to look at him, and he rests his forehead against yours.

 “Yeah,” you agree.

 Through a wide grin, he says,”We’re definitely doing that again.”

You laugh.  “Only if I get to be on top,” you say.  You have an aftershock, and shiver.  Sam, still mostly hard inside you, feels it.  He shivers, too.

“We’ll talk about it,” he says.  You have another aftershock.  He shivers again.


End file.
